


Catch A Tiger by the Toe

by TAFKAB



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Altruism, Angst, F/M, Gambling, M/M, Pon Farr, Self-Sacrifice, Stranded, Transporter Malfunction, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/TAFKAB
Summary: Stranded on a planet with Spock, Kirk, McCoy, and Scotty argue over who will help him through his impending pon farr.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Was supposed to be funny. Came out angsty instead. *hides head*

James T. Kirk, Leonard McCoy, and Montgomery Scott sat around their small campfire on Ganteer VII, staring at one another in dismay. The fourth member of their landing party had volunteered to patrol the area, the better to give them a chance to discuss a rather urgent decision that involved him intimately. He had elected to bestow the choice upon them, when it became apparent such a thing had become unavoidable.

Jim took out his communicator for possibly the seven hundredth time, staring at the firelight gleaming on its polished metal. They’d been on the planet for nine days, and while it might have been a vacation at any other time, this time it was a disaster.

“Just to sum up the situation, in case I’m missing anything obvious.” Jim glared at each man in turn, looking defensive. “Until Chekov gets all the stowaway rodents chased out of the electrical conduits where they’re chewing on the wires, we can’t beam anyone up or down. The shuttles are out of commission thanks to ludicrous levels of cometary meteorite activity. We can’t put Lieutenant Uhura in an enviro-suit and a jetpack and get her to do a low orbit jump thanks to the same cometary debris. Nothing but good old fashioned fornication with a sentient partner, complete with mind link, will do the job.”

He gazed around the circle; both the other men remained uncharacteristically silent just when a good idea would’ve been most helpful. 

“Then that leaves us with a difficult choice to make, gentlemen.” Jim remained firm; they had limited time for delay. Spock could live for a few days yet, but he wouldn’t stay gone on patrol forever. This had to be settled for once and for all before he returned.

McCoy folded his arms over his chest and cleared his throat, darting his eyes sidelong to Scotty. “Well, Jim, I don’t think any of us here are homophobic, but then again, I don’t think any of us are gay or bi, either.”

“I know I’m not,” Scotty volunteered hastily. “And the captain, well.” He eyed Jim apologetically. “You do have a bit of a, er.” He faltered as Kirk gave him the stink-eye. “A reputation. Not necessarily a bad thing. Very admirable. Quite the ladies’ man.” He looked like he wished he had a big slug of whiskey. 

“Well I’m not a homosexual, either.” McCoy glanced at the two of them, tugging at his collar, his drawl very thick. “I’ve had a wife. I’ve got a daughter. Not that I’m homophobic or anything. I want you to know that whichever of the two of you decides to help him, I won’t judge him in any way whatsoever.” He waved his hands dramatically toward Jim and Scott as if to tell them ‘have at it.’

Jim snorted at him. “Oh, no, Bones. You’re not getting off the hook that easy.”

McCoy had a slug of something hidden away; it was pretty evident in the way his hand fell to hover over his hip pocket, but he didn’t break it out. Yet. 

The two of them stared at one another for long moments, volumes passing between them in silence. Scott’s eyes flicked back and forth between the captain and the CMO. He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He didn’t speak. 

“I prefer girls,” Jim confirmed gloomily. “So that’s unanimous.” He didn’t comment further on Bones’s sly attempt at abdication. “I’m pretty sure Spock feels the same way.”

McCoy snorted. “Ya think?” This time he went for the hip flask and took a nip. Scotty eyed it hungrily and Bones gave him a _look_. “No, I didn’t bring enough for everybody,” he announced to Jim, who also eyed the booze with avarice. “And I’m not sharing.”

They sat there for a minute while Bones looked down at the flask as if contemplating another swig. He screwed the cap on tight and put it back in my pocket instead. “Might need that later.”

Jim leaned his head back and looked up, finding the point of light that was the Enterprise, remaining directly overhead as it stayed geostationary to their beam-down site. 

A bird called sleepily from a branch overhead, and all three men flinched before settling again.

“I’ll tell you who I feel sorry for,” McCoy said suddenly, but he fell silent after that, and Jim had to prod him a little.

“Lieutenant Uhura?”

McCoy scoffed at that. “Hell no, Jim. She’s sitting pretty; she’s rolling in clover compared to us. No, the bastard I feel sorry for right now is _Spock._ How’d you like to be off wandering around the woods right now knowing the three of us are sitting here arguing over who’ll draw the short straw and have to f--. ....To save him?”

“That’s an idea,” Scott brightened suddenly. He looked around and plucked a handful of grass, then started making straws, leaving one shorter than the others. He laid them out on the boulder beside his thigh. “We can do that, if we canna decide another way.”

“That seems pretty demeaning.” Jim reached for the shortest of the three green grass-straws and rolled it between his fingertips. “It seems like none of us cares enough about him to want to help. It’s just sex, for fucksake.”

And a mental bond, nobody said. Bonded to Spock. For life. Not to mention a side-eternity of hellfire and damnation courtesy of Lieutenant Uhura.

Bones cleared his throat, scowling, and tossed a dead branch into the fire. They all paused to watch the shower of orange sparks rise and disperse among the leaves.

“Dammit, Jim.” McCoy folded his legs and set his palms on his knees. “That’s not the point. If it was just Spock and one of us down here, do you think whoever it was would hesitate to do what he needed? Hell, it wouldn’t even have to be one of the three of us. It could be nearly anybody on the crew, and the answer would be the same. You think Chapel wouldn’t jump at the chance?”

Jim chuckled, a rueful sound. “Then next time I beam down a medic, I’ll make sure it’s her.”

“You’re way off topic. The point is, it’s not whether we’d do it. We all would. It’s who’s gonna.” McCoy glared at the straw in Jim’s hand.

“I’m his captain.” Kirk spoke quietly as he looked down at the straw he held. “It should be me.”

“Well I’m his physician,” Bones answered hotly. “I’m responsible for his health and welfare.” He snatched the straw out of Jim’s fingers and clutched it in one white-knuckled hand.

“Well he saved m’life last Tuesday.” Scotty made a grab for the straw and managed to pull most of it from between McCoy’s fingers. “And I’d be honored t’save his.”

They glowered at each other, each apparently infuriated by the other’s sudden show of altruism. Kirk’s eyes darted between Bones and Scotty, who suddenly seemed on the verge of a brawl, their breath coming fast, the two bits of straw still in their clenched fists.

“Are you about to fight over the privilege, gentlemen?” He asked softly. It came out gentle, almost sad.

Bones hastily jerked his gaze away; a red flush crept over his cheeks. Or possibly it was sunburn.

Scotty swallowed hard, his prominent adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Nae, I won’t fight either of ye for it. But I won’t shirk it, either, if it comes to that.”

“We should let you, Jim, if you want to. Ambassador Spock said the two of you were bound together in ways you didn’t understand yet. Maybe this is what he meant.” McCoy gritted from between clenched teeth. The flush still burned on his cheeks.

Jim felt a sudden wash of color burn on his own fair skin, and he stared down at the fire. Scotty fell silent, once again gazing between the two of them. With an embarrassed grimace, he picked up one of the remaining long straws and tossed his remnant of the short one into the fire.

“I wish Spock’d given us some guidance,” Jim said after a while, his voice gruff. “Maybe it’d be better for him if he chose the one he wanted.”

Scotty drew up one knee and rested his face against it, hiding his mouth.

“Then one of us would have to live with knowing Spock preferred the oth--” McCoy choked to a halt. He’d turned crimson now to the hairline, and he wasn’t looking Jim in the eye anymore.

“Nope. I guess that wouldn’t work out too well.” Kirk admitted, pursing his lips. “Scotty, I think maybe Bones and I are too emotionally compromised to choose. We should let you be the one to pick who does… it.”

Scott sighed, looking down at his straw. “I cannae do that.” He broke the straw he held, once again making two equal lengths and one short. He arranged the bits in his fist, rolling them around, carefully leveling the tops. “We’ll have a fair draw, and abide by the choice of fate.”

McCoy tossed away the broken straw he held and nodded, staring at anything but the other men’s faces.

Kirk sighed. “All right.” He reached and snatched a straw from Scotty, hiding it in his hand. Bones did too; Scotty was left with the last in his fist. They hesitated, frozen for an infinitesimal moment as they prepared to compare them.

“Wait.” Kirk spoke quickly, his eyes on the ground. “Let’s not do it this way.”

“Too late. We agreed.” McCoy glared at him, his clenched fist trembling around its straw.

Scotty opened his hand, revealing one of the two longer straws. “Ye already know who won between the two of ye,” he said softly, his accent thickening with his distress. “Ye cannae back down noo.”

McCoy opened his fist; in it lay the short straw. Kirk drew a hiss between his teeth; he dropped the longer one, turning his face aside. His lips worked silently; his eyes closed. He appeared to experience difficulty drawing breath.

McCoy looked little better; the flush on his face turned to hectic spots of color on each cheek, and he breathed too rapidly, nearly hyperventilating. He swallowed hard once, then again, staring at Jim as if on the verge of reaching out to touch him.

“Take good care of him, Bones,” Kirk said, his voice thin and strained, a husk of itself. He folded his arms around himself and shivered against the night breeze.

“I will.” It took McCoy two tries to force out enough breath to make his words heard. He seemed unsteady, half in shock. His tongue darted out with nervous expectation, licking his lips as if anticipating a kiss. He lifted his head and looked out swiftly toward the dark forest, apparently looking for Spock to step forward from the shadows, prepared to claim him on the spot. Shallow, fervid breaths escaped between his parted lips.

Scotty looked away from McCoy, respectful, seeming embarrassed by the vulnerability of his expression. His gaze skittered off Kirk, whose eyes and mouth closed, his jaw drawing tight as he sealed his thoughts deep inside.

The communicator chose that moment to chirp.

“We’ve cleared the transporter conduit and hooked up a patch from auxiliary power,” Chekov’s pert voice rang out. “Emergency retrieval of Commander Spock in progress. Prepare for secondary beam-up.”

Three sets of knuckles went white, then relaxed. Three chests stilled as breath stopped inside them for a long moment, then resumed.

McCoy broke the tension first, abruptly throwing his straw into the fire. He surged to his feet. “Never thought I’d actually be glad to hear that godawful contraption’s working again.” His voice sounded too loud, too jovial: false.

Scotty followed suit; after a second, so did Kirk.

They materialized in Transporter Room 3 just in time to see Spock disappear at Nyota’s heels.

Silence fell and stretched.

“Welcome back, Keptin! Doctor. Mister Scott.” Pavel looked at them, a confused frown crinkling the skin between his eyes when no one spoke or moved to answer him.

“I need a goddamned drink,” McCoy muttered. His voice sounded thick; his hand shook a little as he raised it to cover what might have been a cough. He looked bad, gaunt and haggard.

“I think we all do,” Kirk said quietly. His face was as white as McCoy’s was red, his lower lip mottled with the print of his teeth.

“I’ve got just the thing in my quarters,” Scotty laid a sympathetic hand on two shoulders: one blue, one gold. “C’mon.”


End file.
